


want something to chase you? run.

by zippkat



Category: Original Work
Genre: Accidental Soul Bond, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Monster Rut, Overstimulation, Size Difference, see notes for additional consent warnings, transgender character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 18:55:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19301779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zippkat/pseuds/zippkat
Summary: He can see-- he can feel-- he is-- colors that Mikey shouldn’t be able to comprehend, doesn’t have the rods and cones for. He can see everything, can feel the great black expanse of the sea behind him and knows every square foot, knows the crack of the earth at the bottom, the hot comfort of the magma, the call of the ocean, the call of the earth, the scream of the stars in the sky. It hurts, which he would’ve expected, if he could’ve expect anything; it breaks his heart, also expected; it doesn’t feel all that different from just-- being alive. Unexpected.He’s never belonged, has harbored the secret suspicion that no one does, that ‘belonging’ and ‘family’ were terms made up to sell products to unfulfilled American couples, but this-- he feels it now, in his blood through his bones, how he was grown from the soil, how the sea pulses through him, and the link between him and this-- massive-- thing standing over him, drooling over its claws, head cocked like Mikey is a new scientific discovery.





	want something to chase you? run.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tumblr user celestial-sugar](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=tumblr+user+celestial-sugar).



> Fic written for the lovely Yuri (celestial-sugar on tumblr)  
> .  
> find me on tumblr @Spikekat  
> .  
> Additional note for consent warning: Mikey's ability to consent to monster fuckin is skewed by the fact that the trust-building act also gives him access to the creature's rut. If that's going to upset you or you need extra clarification about consent issues, please feel free to message me! If there are extra tags I should use, please let me know.  
> .  
> title stolen from Richard Siken's "birds hover the trampled field"

     The ocean is dark and cold, the moon full, and Mikey can finally, finally relax. He doesn’t know why he stopped doing this, the night swimming. The Pacific soothes the aches in his shoulders, the waves rolls over his skin and shower his face with tiny droplets like kisses. Best of all, it’s only him, no judgmental eyes, no tourists, no cis men and their cold, confused gazes. Just him, the ocean, the mountains in the distance, the stars and the far away streetlights of his sleepy town.

     He’s in the shallows because he’s not stupid, shielded from the highway and the wider beach by a rock formation. In the light from the moon it looks huge and black, like a giant leaning into the water. He’d stripped to his underwear and his binder sometime around midnight, left his clothes folded in a pile on the sand where he could keep an eye on them. The air smells of salt and the promise of a storm.

     He still smells like his workplace, a candy store a few blocks from the beach. The sugar makes him feel almost nauseous. It was a hard day; getting misgendered at work always sucks, but sometimes, it’s just-- too much. Having a body is too much, existing is too much.

     When he was a kid, he’d heard stories of the shapeshifters in the ocean, the monsters that used to crawl out of the tide pools and take different shapes. The Oregon Coast loves its legends. He hadn’t understood at the time why he’d felt such a connection, but looking back, it’s-- obvious. It had taken him years to accept that magic wasn’t real, that he was going to be himself forever, but even still. The ocean felt like something special.

     If this is as close to magic as the world gets-- it’s more than enough.

     Mikey takes a breath and dunks himself one last time. He’s starting to get cold, not even the summer night air able to soothe the sting of the waves. Dripping, he surges to the surface, pushing his hair out of his face and rapidly blinking to protect his eyes from the salt.

     Something about the rock on shore looks-- different. Longer? Mikey blinks again. Part of the rock has come apart, splitting away from the eroding headland. It looks like it’s been that way for months, at least, but he can’t-- remember it. The split has revealed a tight crevice, almost like a cave, and surely that would’ve been the first place he explored? Could he have missed the split while under water?

     Capitalism is really fucked up, he must be exhausted if he’s starting to miss giant fucking rocks and caves. He wades through the waves back to shore, craning his neck to stare up at the smaller boulder. It’s only about eight feet tall, maybe three wide, waves swirling around it and licking up the black expanse. Mikey stops a few feet away, dripping at its base, wonders if he’s too tired to climb, if he should risk cutting his feet on the barnacles--

     The rock shifts. A shape like a muzzle comes untucked from the rocky surface, and frills, like a sailfish, unfurl, it flexes, shakes, and---

     It’s not a rock. It’s not--

     The creature blinks down at Mikey. It has-- uncountable eyes, too many eyes, all of them a bright, eerie purple, and nearly glowing in the light of the full moon. It opens its-- muzzle-- the rock face splitting in two, to reveal a tongue in the same purple, and rows upon rows of pointed, foul teeth. It rolls its shoulders, tensing, and Mikey can fucking see the bulging muscle under its barnacle encrusted skin. It looks like it’s bigger than his entire body. It looks like it’s about to pounce.

     Mikey’s running before he can even comprehend what he’s looking at. He only manages a few steps, mind white with terror, before the creature catches his ankle and he plummets into the sand. There’s a sound, like a whine, or the whir of some huge engine and he’s going to die, he’s going to fucking get eaten by this fucking thing--

     He scrabbles at the ground even as the thing pulls him back, grabbing a driftwood log and swinging it backward. He feels it connect, the wood splintering apart in his hand. The whine comes again and for a fraction of a second Mikey is free. It’s enough.

     He bolts on all fours, breathing in huge gasps. If he can just get to the parking lot, to that faraway circle of streetlights--

     He doesn’t see the log until he’s dragging himself over it, and he doesn’t feel the fishhook until it’s ripping through his palm. For a half second he doesn’t have a body, is just the frisson of shock and pain, and it’s long enough for something hot and alive and sharp to wrap around his leg and pull him backward.

     Mikey tries to protect his face with his ruined hand, flinching into the wet sand, blood and who the fuck knows on his face, and the thing opens its mouth, all its awful teeth, its hot breath and the long fucking tongue--

     He’s really, really fucking going to die. He’s going to die screaming and in pain and alone, on this stupid beach, because he couldn’t deal with his stupid real life. It’s beyond pathetic, it’s infuriating.

     The monster extends its tongue, smearing the tip across his palm like it wants to sample his blood, and it stings bad enough he’s crying a little bit, eyes squeezed shut, tiny little sobs as he shakes-- it keeps stinging. He’s being poisoned. The sting goes from his palm all the way down his arm and any moment it will reach his heart and--

     --and it stops hurting, the sting becoming heat becoming-- not numbness, but the absence of pain. Mikey opens his eyes. The monster is crouched over him, still lapping at his palm. The ruined half is no longer ruined. The creature blinks four of its eyes at him. They’re brighter than he remembers them being, almost fluorescent, like--

     It leans forward and there’s nowhere for Mikey to go, no escape. It presses its-- forehead? The space between its eyes-- to his and.

     The universe blooms ultraviolet.

     He can see-- he can feel-- he is-- colors that Mikey shouldn’t be able to comprehend, doesn’t have the rods and cones for. He can see everything, can feel the great black expanse of the sea behind him and knows every square foot, knows the crack of the earth at the bottom, the hot comfort of the magma, the call of the ocean, the call of the earth, the scream of the stars in the sky. It hurts, which he would’ve expected, if he could’ve expect anything; it breaks his heart, also expected; it doesn’t feel all that different from just-- being alive. Unexpected.

     He’s never belonged, has harbored the secret suspicion that no one does, that ‘belonging’ and ‘family’ were terms made up to sell products to unfulfilled American couples, but this-- he feels it now, in his blood through his bones, how he was grown from the soil, how the sea pulses through him, and the link between him and this-- massive-- thing standing over him, drooling over its claws, head cocked like Mikey is a new scientific discovery.

     “Hello,” Mikey breathes, reaching a hand up. The creature slides its cheek against his palm. Its skin isn’t quite scaled, more like armor grown from the ocean, barnacles anchored to leathery, hot skin. Mikey slides his hand down its jaw, over its throat, to its pulse point. The thing lets him, many eyes unblinking, watching him. He shivers, skin prickling, not unpleasant but not a... natural feeling. Something borrowed.

     Now that he can see it, really see it, he can see how fucking beautiful it is. Roughly eight feet of shifting skin and muscle, Mikey can make out at least six appendages, ending in clawed-- not paws, but not hands. The top four are clearly more arms than legs, the joints more slender, almost elegant, spots almost like freckles of ultraviolet and white down its shoulders. The creature’s claws span the length of his forearm, but when it strokes over his leg, soothing where it had previously grabbed, the creature is incredibly gentle. Then there’s the frills covering its back, threaded through with ultraviolet veins that he can see now, in all their glowing, gorgeous glory.

     The thing opens its jaw, half its face splitting, revealing the brown, stinking teeth, the canines as long as the span of Mikey’s hand, but this time, there’s no fear. He almost knows what it’s going to do before its tongue slips out and slides along his wrist, twines around his forearm.

     He shouldn’t-- he shouldn’t be getting turned on, but the adrenaline is still there, twisting into arousal, and there’s just something about the monster that calls to him. Something white hot, twisting in his gut.

     Mikey drags his thumb over the thing’s tongue, his own mouth gently open, in awe. It’s so much warmer than anything human, a welcome feeling after the biting cold of the Pacific. The color, too, how bright, how fucking beautiful--

     Gently, delicately, the monster leans over him, pressing Mikey back into the sand, nudging his head with its muzzle. He wonders if it can smell his arousal in his sweat, or if he’s-- wet enough--

     It kisses him, kind of. Its tongue is too huge to fit in his mouth, but he sucks at the tip, trying to get as much as he can. The monster makes a sound like a growl, or a huge cat purring. Waves of affection, of pleasure sweep over Mikey, and he knows that when the creature fixed his hand and it also gave him something extra. He can feel what it feels, the heat all over its body, how small and resilient and perfect he looks to it.

     When it pulls back, two of its clawed hands stroke down over his thighs to his knees, spreading his legs open. There’s ultraviolet saliva on his chest, and he knows, if he could see himself, smeared over his mouth as well.

     The warmth emanating from the creature doesn’t make Mikey feel less exposed, with his legs held open, his hard, tiny dick straining against the soaked, tight fabric of his underwear. He digs his fingers into the sand to steady himself. The monster edges back, downward, until its muzzle is between his knees. He knows what’s going to happen, but it doesn’t truly prepare him for the heat of the thing’s tongue, even through his underwear.

     He can’t help the sound he makes, the choked off groan as the creature laps at him through his underwear. Long, wet strokes, the friction of the cotton and the heat. Mikey whimpers at it, head thrown back in the sand, but unable, unwilling to _not_ watch.

     The creature’s eyes-- he can see now there are twelve of them, six per side-- are half lidded, watching him watch it, and the possessive thrill it gives him is almost as good as the slide of its tongue against the head of his dick.

     “Please,” he says, fingers curling and uncurling in the sand. Another pulse of affection, and one clawed hand reaches up. It’s big enough that it covers his whole hip, its claws gentle against the softness of his stomach and he shivers, tense for a second, before it hooks one claw in the waistband of his boxer-briefs and pulls downward, slow, neatly slicing through the cotton. The sight alone is almost enough to make him come.

     Mikey-- squeaks-- as the wet heat of the monster’s tongue finally, finally slides against his dick, his legs shaking involuntarily. It presses against his slit, teasing, grinding, and he tries to hold himself still, legs splayed wide to fit the creature’s muzzle between his knees, when it flashes him an image: himself, flushed and needy, his hole wet and red, stained with ultraviolet. Claimed. He looks desperate and wrecked and filthy.

     “Fuck-- god, fuck--” He gasps, sparks in his eyes, trying to reconcile the image with what he can see in front of him, and then-- the tip of its tongue is pressing at him, into him. His voice breaks on a moan as it slowly eases into him. His back arches, he tilts his head back, exposing his throat, all impulse and need. The heat is everywhere now, throbbing fast in his skin, almost a second heartbeat. He tries to push himself into the thing’s tongue, bracing himself against the sand, but a heavy, clawed hand keeps him pinned.

     It fucks him slow, easing in another half inch with every thrust of its thick tongue, stretching him teasingly, torturously gentle. Mikey can’t stop shaking, he’s so close, needs to be filled, to be-- held down and--

     Slowly, gently, as it thrusts its tongue forward and up, curling against something that sparks in him-- the creature eases its mouth closed, bending its tongue to grind against Mikey’s dick while it fucks him, its hot breath flooding over his hips and his stomach and that’s all it takes. He shakes apart as he comes, clenching down on the creature’s tongue, chasing the sensation, trying to fuck himself deeper.

     It waits for him to slump, breathing hard, trying to swallow enough air to get past the stars in his eyes, before it eases out of him. Mikey whines at the absence, mind hazy with heat and need. He usually can come twice in a night, if he works at it, but he doesn’t even feel close to sated.

     The creature straightens its-- spine? Mikey doesn’t know, can’t tell-- above him, and he can see, between its legs, two dripping, ultraviolet appendages. Its genitals. Its fucking-- its dicks. They’re gently ridged, and each as big around as Mikey’s arm, at least.

     He should be feeling fear, should be worried. Instead, his mouth goes wet and he clenches down on nothing, hot, liquid anticipation washing over his skin. He wants to get fucked. He’s going to get fucked, spread open and-- filled, claimed, needed and wanted and--

     He grabs his thighs and spreads, arms trembling. The creature rumbles again, affection and his own need, mirrored, washing over him. He’s so pretty, so good spread open, the perfect choice, the perfect mate.

     The creature braces itself over him, twisting so it can press its skull against his, its tongue grinding against his mouth. Mikey moans against it, trying to cant his hips up high enough to grind against one of its cocks while also sucking at its tongue. He can taste himself on the tip, the musky, salty taste of his own come-- and the creature presses against him, not entering yet, just fitting one of its hard cocks between his legs-- and he’s coming again, groaning low in his throat, and there’s no air--

     The creature pulls its tongue away, nuzzling his cheek as he gasps. He’s still alight with the heat. It’s almost like every time he comes the need gets worse, he can barely think, he just wants and wants, he feels so fucking empty.

     “I need, please, please, fuck me, please,” he mumbles against the creature’s muzzle. It rumbles in answer, a constant, insistent thrum that gets under his skin. Gently, two of its clawed hands replace Mikey’s on his hips, holding him steady so he can relax against the sand. The sounds take on a soothing measure, the claws barely pricking his skin, just enough that he knows they’re there, knows he’s completely at this thing’s mercy. It could rip him apart in seconds. Instead, it holds him, grinding one cock steadily against his dick, over his hole, the other frotting against his hip.

     Mikey is a mess of ultraviolet, the creature’s mark all over him. A coveted, cherished, claimed thing.

     “Please,” he says, choked and soft. “Fuck, please--”

     The claws tighten fractionally, a warning, and then the creature’s sliding one of its cocks against, into, his hole. It’s thicker than its tongue was, but there’s something in the saliva, there has to be, that keeps Mikey relaxed enough for it to just barely slide the head in. He moans, low, continuous, as the creature pulls out, then back in, easing inside.

     Mikey’s-- never felt as full. Not his toys, or his fingers, or the dicks of the three men he’s ever slept with, nothing has ever felt as good. He squirms in the creature’s grasp, trying to spread himself wider, and again, the claws tense over his skin.

     Suddenly, savagely, the creature thrusts forward and Mikey screams as it forces another inch or so into him. He can feel, through the haze, where he’s spread open, his walls dragging at the head and the ridges of the creature’s cock pressing against every sensitive part of himself. He can-- feel from it, too, how tight he is, how wet, how his hole is trying to clench around the creature’s cock, how desperate his body is.

     He’s saying something, not even he can hear himself, as the monster thrusts again, and when he glances down he can see that, impossibly, he’s taken almost half of it. Then it’s pressing its muzzle against his neck, a warning, a still-affectionate pulse to stay down as it starts to thrust in earnest. Its second cock grinds over Mikey’s, over his hips, showing him exactly how deep the creature’s fucking him and it feels so good, he’s so full, he’s so good, taking it so fucking well--

     The creature’s purring stutters as it presses in, as deep as it can, holding Mikey tight. He feels its cock twitch inside him and-- he’s coming again, blackness washing over his eyes as his nerves light up, electric everything.

     The creature’s stutters happen more and more often and when he blinks back into existence, his vision blurry, he can see its tongue sticking out. His chest seizes with warmth, with--

     The cock that isn’t fucking him is dripping ultraviolet precome over his hips, and he realizes that the heat inside him must be-- that happening-- in him, filling him-- and it’s like he can’t stop coming, his whole body shaking as he _screams_ , writhing in the thing’s grip, trying to get more of it in him, and as if it can feel how badly he wants-- needs-- it, the creature thrusts harder, almost frantic, using him like a fucking toy, until finally it goes stiff, dragging him back-- and he’s taking all of it now, somehow, impossibly fitting all of it inside his hole-- and coming in pulses.

     The cock on his stomach splatters across his binder up to his face, covering him, even as he can feel wetness dripping out around the one inside him. It’s salty and almost sulphur-like, a heady, compelling flavor and he’s so full, so fucking wet and dripping, a fucking mess, his nerves feel like they’re on fire--

     He loses a  bit of time, drifting in warm darkness. He’s aware of skin against his, of sand, of heat, liquid, and the smell of the ocean. He almost expects, when he starts to come back around, to have dreamed it all.

     There’s only darkness when he opens his eyes. He feels sore but pleased. The heat has ebbed but not gone completely. In fact, he’s hard still, and something wet is grinding against his--

     Mikey looks down and the monster’s licking him again, its massive body curled around him, pillowing his torso, one massive hand holding his knees open so it can drag its tongue over his dick.

     “Hi, baby,” he mumbles. His throat feels shredded. Something like humor pulses over him, even as the creature settles into a rhythm, playing with his dick, teasing his hole, and then dipping lower.

     Mikey can’t stop his low groan as the monster gently presses between his asscheeks. It presses the tip just barely inside, then back up to his dick, then his ass again, pressing in even more of its tongue.

     Mikey wonders if it’s going to fuck-- both of his--

     The creature gently shifts him onto his side, holding his leg higher, spreading him as it presses into his ass. It’s different from before, slower. Almost-- with more intent, with purpose. He’s always been into anal but to shy to ever let-- anyone else--

     Mikey braces himself against the creature’s side and finds one of its frills under his palm. It’s both softer and thicker than he expected, made of thin, transparent skin. He strokes over it and the creature starts to make its purring sound again, its whole body vibrating and-- the tongue against his slit, sliding into his ass--

     Mikey buries his face in the creature’s side as his body twitches and convulses around the creature’s tongue. He can’t remember how many times he’s come, only that it’s not enough, he needs--

     The creature pulls away, presses its muzzle to Mikey’s face. He thinks it wants to kiss him, but it doesn’t present its tongue, just-- presses their skin together, its eyes half-lidded and hazy. Mikey shudders, overwhelmed, and runs one shaking hand down the creature’s jaw. His. Its. He belongs to it, he can feel it in the back of his head, all heat and need and desire.

     He never thought anyone-- anything-- would care about him-- that-- much---

     There’s something hot and wet against his side, and when he twists to see, wiping at his eyes, he realizes he’s been pressed up against the creature’s lower half. It’s still hard, and when he reaches out to run a finger over the head of the cock closest to him, it twitches under his skin, dripping precome. It smells-- salty, inviting, and Mikey groans, his own cock stiffening despite the ache between his legs. He can feel its echoing response in his head, how hungry it is, how badly it wants to mount him.

     He lets the creature arrange him on his stomach, his ass pulled into the air with one pair of the creature’s hands to keep him steady, the others at his shoulders. Claws thread through his hair, over his shoulders, his back, and he can’t stop shivering. The world has narrowed to the beat of his pulse and the hot wetness between his legs. He needs, he fucking needs--

     The creature presses forward until the stiff, silky skin of one of its dicks is pressing up against Mikey’s slit, the other slipping over his ass. He moans and tries to press backward, to spread himself, to beg without having to speak, and as if in answer the creature thrusts forward, between his cheeks, grinding against both his holes.

     “Please--” Mikey says into the sand, his face impossibly hot, his voice cracking. He’s so close, it’s so close, another inch, another fucking ounce of pressure--“Please, god, please, please--”

     The creature makes a sound like a purr, but soothing again, and adjusts its grip on his hips. He can feel himself pulled, spread open, and then the tip of one dick is pressing against his ass, the other at his slit, and then-- and then--

     Mikey’s voice breaks on a moan so loud it’s almost a scream as the creature presses into him. He has no idea how it’s fitting, how he can be so full without being ripped apart. So open, so fucking stretched over its cocks--

     The creature is still rumbling, but its tone has shifted into something hungry, edged in desperation. Mikey feels like prey now, as its claws tighten and it sinks forward, spreading him apart inch by inch, pressing up against his raw nerves. He reflexively clenches as he feels one of the small, swollen ridges slide past his rim. The creature growls.

     Mikey bites down on his own hand to keep from screaming, or begging, demanding the thing take him, fucking hold him down and make him take all of it, to lock them together and--

     The creature thrusts into him, a short, powerful roll of its hips and if it wasn’t holding him up, Mikey doesn’t think he’d have been able to keep his balance.

     It thrusts again. Mikey’s answering scream is muffled by his hand. It hurts, it fucking hurts, but not as much as it should, not enough for him to want it to ever stop. The thing thrusts again, and its growling has started to crack apart, as if it, too, is almost-- nearly--

     He stops trying to hold back and moans, low and unending as the creature’s thrusts pick up, its claws trembling against his skin, adding a charge to the heat already building in him, in it, he can feel it in his head, half out of its own mind with how much it needs him, how tight he is, how wet and hot and perfect perfect perfect--

     Mikey needs it, needs it to get all the way inside him. His toes are curled so tight they hurt, his back arching as far as it’ll go, trying to hold himself loose and relaxed, to just take-- and the creature’s fucking him, he can hear the wet sound of it, can feel-- the heat, precome, filling him, dripping out, mixing with his own come in the sand, and finally finally the creature presses all the way forward and he can feel its stomach against his back, can feel its heartbeat in its swollen cocks, fully-- inside him--

     He comes, eyes rolling back in his head, sobbing and shaking on the sand. The creature pulls almost all the way out, shivering as he convulses around it, then it pushes back in, fucking him through it, brutal and slow and he’s so, so full--

     The claws on his back shift, pulling half his body up, off the sand. He fights to keep his face out of the sand, bracing himself on his elbows as the creature thrusts, frantic, each press of its hips faster than the last, driving scream after scream from Mikey’s lungs. He comes again, nearly losing consciousness, as it presses both its full lengths into him again and he can feel them pulsing, heat pouring into him, as it grows closer to-- mating-- him--

     He’s never been stretched so much, never been used so thoroughly, shaped so the creature-- his creature-- could fuck him, take him, claim him. The heat is burning through him, almost painful, the sweet side of electric.

     The growling starts up again, ragged and edged with audible desperation. Its claws-- shake-- and slip in Mikey’s sweat, slicing shallowly through his skin. He feels the sparks of it, and he can-- smell himself, the iron of his blood, the animal smell of it and his come and his sweat and--

     He comes, and this time it feels like enough, his whole body rippling with the effect. He sobs into the sand as wave after wave of pleasure floods over him, can feel the creature chasing the clench of his holes, how the sensation pulls at its own need to thrust forward, to take him, to--

     The creature slams forward, burying itself in Mikey’s body and coming, hard, crying its own release to the sky. He can feel its cocks thicken and pulse with each roll of its hips, its come filling him, burning him, stretching him so far--

     He didn’t know he could come like this. His vision sparks out, he can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t-- It’s still coming in him, still fucking him through its own orgasm even though Mikey’s so tight it can’t pull out.

     He fades in and out of awareness as its thrusts slow, as it gently lowers him onto the sand, cocks still inside him, them still locked together. He blinks and it’s managed to half curl around him, to lap at the places they’re joined, and the friction of its tongue against his dick and the places he’s-- spread open--

     Sparks bloom behind his eyes, and again, he sinks into darkness.

     When Mikey opens his eyes for real, the creature’s gone and his body aches. The sun is barely coming up over the horizon, the sky gone a soft, cotton candy pink color. He’s been left next to his pile of clothes, still folded neatly where he’d left them on the shore.

     He has sand everywhere-- he can feel it in his eyes, his joints, in his fucking eyelashes-- and when he sits up, he realizes the reason he wasn’t cold was the almost blanket of soft, dry sand that had blown over him. Fuck, there’s even some in his mouth.

     His dick hurts, a dull, warm ache. For a second, Mikey thinks, maybe he dreamed-- hallucinated-- but he can feel it. The creature. His creature, in the back of his head, even as the dawn breaks and the sunlight washes over him. He can feel it in the dark of the water, its own sated, exhausted pulses of affection washing over the bond between them. It’s glad he’s awake, glad that he belongs to it, and vice versa.

     Mikey forces himself to get dressed. His boxers are long, long gone, and when he glances down, wriggling into his jeans, and catches a faint stain of ultraviolet on his thighs.

     The creature in the depths pulses a mix of something a little like humor and something almost possessive. Mikey shivers.

     It’s a long walk back, especially on his shaking legs, but he feels more relaxed than he has maybe ever. His creature purrs in the back of his head, equal parts encouragement and affection. It’ll come back for him, it promises, emotion washing through and over him. He’ll never be alone again.

     Mikey pushes his hair out of his face as he turns down his street. One of his neighbors is driving to work and waves at him, laughing, her eyebrows raised, obviously drawing her own conclusions. He waves back.

     Night swimming. Best idea he’s had in a long, long time.


End file.
